


Hair Is More Than Just a Musical

by Zanne



Category: Glee
Genre: AU (werewolf), Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's got a little problem with body hair, all thanks to a bad date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hair Is More Than Just a Musical

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed, for which I apologize, but I couldn't find anyone to do it! Murphy owns Glee. This idea came from a post about a Werewolf Big Bang, where I misread Kirk as Kurt. My first thought was that Kurt would rid himself of all that excess hair as soon as it showed up.

Kurt eyed the darkening sky with distaste, each passing minute filling him with dread. He huffed out an annoyed breath and closed his bathroom window, already feeling the call to go outdoors and bathe in the brilliance of the moon just beginning to spill through the trees.

“Y’know, maybe it won’t be that bad,” Mercedes said, concentrating on painting her last fingernail a nearly neon shade of pink.

“Look at the bright side – you could think of it like a really rugged Boy Scout jamboree,” Santana suggested, flicking to the next page in her magazine with a sharp snap of paper. “Don’t some of you gays like the big, furry type?”

“I refuse to be seen in public looking like some reject from a back alley production of _Into the Woods_ ,” Kurt said, offended at the mere thought. “Besides, I’m a card carrying member of PETA – I’d rather go naked.”

“Tell that to your leather jacket.”

“Next time,” Brittany said, taking a long pause before continuing, “don’t make-out with a guy who likes to bite. You never know what you might catch – rabies, gingivitis, misanthropy-”

Mercedes arched an eyebrow in Brittany’s direction. “ _Lyc_ anthropy,” she corrected with a snort.

“This is not a joke!” Kurt said, his voice rising as the fur began to sprout all over his body. He felt the itch of it beneath the fabric of his slacks and he dreaded what he would find once he dared to take off his clothes. Taking a fortifying breath, he hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt and shouted, “Get the wax, ladies! Our movie starts at 8:00!”

He settled himself on the edge of the tub, now clad only in black silk boxers and an overabundance of body hair. Santana leaned down, a wax-heavy applicator already in hand, and eyed the fur on his face. “You want me to take care of your eyebrows while we’re at it?”

“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” Kurt demanded.

“They remind me of two happy caterpillars dancing on a plate of vanilla custard,” Britttany said from somewhere by his left shin.

Kurt blinked at this observation and turned to Mercedes with his lips turning downward in a frown, though it was difficult to discern his expression through all of the hair. “Is this true?” he asked as Mercedes efficiently pressed the first strip of paper to his waxed arm.

“I don’t know about caterpillars, but sometimes you remind me of Bert from _Sesame Street_.” She met his eyes as she ripped the cloth from his arm, leaving a bare strip of pinkened flesh, and he flinched at the sting. “The truth hurts.”

“Not as much as it will when we get to your lady parts,” Santana said with almost gleeful anticipation. “I bet Rachel $10 you’d cry.”

Kurt fell silent for a moment, glaring at Santana as she tore off another waxed strip. “Fine, you can thin the eyebrows, but think Katy Perry vs. Lindsay Lohan.” He showed a little fang as a growl spilled from his throat. “And you’re not getting anywhere near my ‘parts’ unless you turn into David Beckham.”

“Maybe Santana will get bitten by Posh Spice,” Brittany said with a smile, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her.

“In my dreams,” Santana muttered under her breath, making Brittany and Mercedes giggle.

Kurt clapped his hands, the sound slightly muffled through the fur still coating his palms. “Ladies…focus!” He glanced at his watch, nose twitching slightly in agitation. “Let’s speed this up so I have time to moisturize before leaving, alright? I don’t want to have to deal with ingrown hairs on top of everything else.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Mercedes said, rolling her eyes in Brittany’s direction. “Don’t forget, you promised us all a Starbucks for helping you out tonight.”

“You have my undying gratitude _and_ my Starbucks card,” Kurt snapped, hurrying them along with a flick of his hand. “Now do my back. I don’t want to look like I wrapped myself in shag carpet.”

Brittany stroked a hand through the thick pelt still layering his thigh and said wistfully, “It’s so _pretty_. Can I French braid it next time?”

“No, we’re being adults about this and pretending it doesn’t exist, like teen sex and people who believe Corn Nuts are an actual food group.”

“You can’t ignore it forever,” Mercedes said wisely. “It’ll come back to bite you on the ass every month.”

As if on cue, a mournful howling erupted outside of the house and Santana snickered, casting a sly look in Britanny’s direction. “Speaking of biting on the ass…have you talked to him, yet?”

“No,” Kurt said, resuming his seat and fixing his gaze on a spot over Santana’s head. “And I don’t plan on it.”

“You can’t stay pissed at him forever,” Santana informed him. “He bit me plenty of times and nothing ever happened.”

“It’s destiny!” Britanny said. “Like the dish and the spoon.” Her gaze flicked up and down Kurt's body and she added, "Though I always thought the spoon would be a little taller."

“You would think impregnating the head cheerleader was a sign of destiny, but look how that turned out.”

“Maybe Brittany’s right,” Mercedes said with a shrug. “You should talk to him. He’s been miserable - just listen to that noise!”

“Fine! You want me to talk to him?” Kurt asked, stalking over to the window and throwing it open. He leaned out to glare at the figure on his lawn, his freshly waxed skin pebbling in the cool night air. “Noah Puckerman, if you’re really sorry then you’ll come back here when you’re bipedal with an armful of flowers and a gallon of body wax! Until then, get your furry ass off my lawn!” He slammed the window shut once more on the wolf’s happy yip and turned to face the girls. “There, are you happy now?”

“Very,” Mercedes said. “Now sit your bony ass down so we can finish.”

“Just don’t lick yourself,” Brittany warned him. “Mr. Tubbington is half your size and when he does it he gets the _worst_ hairballs.”

  



End file.
